The Stars Have Eyes

“No, it’s not like that all,” Joe insisted.

“I require elaboration,” Maggie was unconvinced.

“Okay, so. You know there used to be a place called London, yeah?”

“Indeed. It features prominently in your nation’s pre-space history.”

“And it was built on a river, a big one.”

“The Thames, yes.”

“Naturally, they built quite a few bridges over it.”

“Naturally,” Maggie agreed.

“But only one of them ended up being THE London Bridge.”

“The most important one, presumably.”

“Exactly. It was so important that people have been throwing all kinds of money and science at it just to keep the old thing standing. They did that for ages, even after we’d started colonizing space.”

“This endeavour seems like a tremendous waste of resources and manpower. Why did they not build a new one with modern materials and engineering?”

“It was the Queen’s favorite bridge, you see. Can’t have anyone tampering with that. In fact, when the mega-quakes of 2167 finally collapsed it, She declared the Earth itself was a terrorist organization and airlifted the entire country into space. Or, is that space-lifted? You know what I mean.”

Maggie could do little but shake her head. Such stubborn futility and manic overreactions never ceased to amaze her. Admittedly Joe was hardly the most reliable source of historical information, and it was certain that his anecdotal knowledge was missing quite a few details. However, judging from what she’d learned of the 3rd British Empire’s culture, Maggie estimated there was a staggering 87% chance of that story being almost completely true. It would, of course, only take her a few seconds to verify the veracity of that narrative via virtual volumes, but that would take the fun out of it. Not to mention it would be rude to Joe to do that right in front of him.

“So, yeah,” the man wheeled around towards his original point. “Because of that, whenever you hear someone talk about London Bridge falling down, they’re politely implying that the government cocked something up in a big and obvious way. Usually through excessive spending.”

“I comprehend. But how does the phrase ‘My fair lady’ factor into this idiom?”

“That’s just what you’re supposed to say back, to show that you understand and agree. It’s like a social contract.”

“This I deduced from context. I am asking why those three words in that exact order, specifically?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Something about invoking the Queen’s name in a roundabout way, probably.”

“Curious.”

“Look, I know you got that look of ‘I wanna study this completely trivial thing’ right now, but you kinda left me hanging, so can we try that again?”

“Very well. I will cooperate.”

“Right, then.”

Joe straightened his shirt out, coughed a few times into his clenched fist, and then repeated the statement that started this whole topic in a slightly dramatic fashion.

“Blimey! This place is so fancy that London Bridge is falling down!”

“My fair lady,” the girl chirped cheerfully in response.

“No, no, not like that,” the man grumbled. “You’re slagging off the government, here, Maggie. You’re supposed to be more disappointed. Cynical. Bit of eye-rolling. Let’s have another go, shall we?”

“Pardon me, Sir. Madam.”

An obviously synthesized male voice interrupted the impromptu cultural lesson before it could really take off. Its source was a semi-humanoid robot just a few steps away from Joe and Maggie. Its upper body had a wide and vaguely V-shaped torso with two finely-tuned arms, their mechanical internals concealed by interlocking plates of shiny white polymer. The same went for the back half of the spherical head. The front was made transparent like glass and revealed the robot’s face was a giant camera with a softly glowing blue ring around the lens. As for the machine’s lower body, it didn’t really have one. The torso just kind of floated in place with a barely audible hum. The robot also wore a stylish black vest and necktie over a pressed off-white shirt. The ensemble resembled traditional British formal wear from around the 20th century.

Much as its appearance would suggest, this hovering machine was a butler, of sorts. More specifically, a model S3-T1 custodial automaton with the designation ‘Jeeves.’ It had already introduced itself as such when Maggie rang the doorbell of the luxurious suite she and Joe were currently standing in front of. One glance at the dwelling’s interior had caused the man to utter that ‘London Bridge’ comment, and the robot had been silently hovering in the doorway since. However, it would appear its patience subroutine had run its course, as it spoke somewhat insistently.

“Though I would hate to interrupt your riveting conversation, I must implore you to step inside. The Master is a very busy individual and your appointment is imminent, so it would behoove you to be as punctual as humanly possible.”

“Agreed,” Maggie politely bowed her head.

“Excellent. Right this way, please.”

As Jeeves led the couple inside, Joe learned that his initial judgement of the place being way too fancy was an understatement. It had ridiculously spacious rooms and hallways, unbelievably soft and vibrant carpeting, and over-the-top furnishings straight out of a movie. The baroque walls were lined with exotic artwork in tasteful frames, and elegant mini-chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling. The extravagance of it all spiked even further when he entered the sitting room. It had a genuine stone fireplace for maximum coziness and actual windows that let in real sunlight.

Joe couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and sorely out of place. This was by far the swankiest, most opulent residence he’d ever seen. Even his virtual abode paled in comparison, to say nothing of his tiny shoebox of an apartment. Indeed, the contrast between them was so stark that it was difficult to believe this place was even on the same planet as that bland closet, yet was actually in the same building. Admittedly it was about a hundred and thirty stories up from Joe’s place, but no matter how difficult it was to believe, the two apartments definitely shared a hyper-scraper.

The man could therefore be forgiven for assuming that the owner of the place was some pompous, stuck-up twat. The sort of insufferable arsehole that wore a face mask just so they wouldn’t have to breathe the same air as commoners like him. He was therefore somewhat relieved to see that he was wrong, at least about the second bit. Already waiting for him and Maggie in the sitting room was a pleasantly rounded gentleman. He wore a sharp suit, had dignified traces of gray in his black hair, and an impressive well-groomed moustache on his lip. The stranger’s plumpness implied financial success since it meant he was able to pay for lots of real food on the regular instead of relying on Noot-Goop for sustenance. Cullen was kind of the same way since he made a good amount of money off of his avatar design hobby.

“Master Millington, your three o’clock appointment has arrived,” Jeeves announced.

“Oh! Marvellous!” the man said in a jolly tone. “Come in, come in, make yourselves at home. I do apologize for the extravagant decor, but this is the only suite I could rent on such short notice. Jeeves, do be so kind as to fetch our guests some of your spiffing tea, would you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Joe was simultaneously surprised, relieved, and emboldened by the warm welcome and decided to take full advantage of it.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he stepped forward with his hand out. “I’m Joe Mulligan.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mulligan,” the mustachioed gentleman smiled. “I would shake your hand, but I’m afraid I’m not really here.”

He then put his arm straight through one of the armchairs, showing that he was actually a highly sophisticated hologram.

“Oh…”

Joe’s enthusiasm rapidly deflated as he mentally shuffled this guy back into the ‘pretentious prick’ category in his head.

“Please do not take this personally, Mr. Mulligan. This is a security precaution. It would, after all, be quite irresponsible for a man of my stature to put himself within reach of a Class-3 entity. Ah, where are my manners? My name is Oliver Millington, and I am the regional director of Her Immortal Majesty’s Supernatural Eviction Agency for this star sector.”

“Magh'rathlak the Observer, though you may refer to me as Mags or Miss Oh,” the girl introduced herself as well.

“Charmed, I’m sure. I’ve learned quite a lot about you thanks to Major Archer’s diligent reports. This includes your technological prowess. Speaking of which, my technician informs me you are attempting to trace this hologram’s signal back to its origins. I would recommend that you cease doing so immediately, otherwise we will deem this an act of hostility and will be forced to respond accordingly.”

Joe looked quizzically towards Maggie and was only slightly surprised to see her relax a tiny bit. It wasn’t in the eyes or the face, but the hair. He had noticed that those constantly coiling locks seemed to become more animate in direct proportion to the intensity of her mental efforts. The fact that they slightly calmed down implied that she had done as asked.

“I offer apologies,” the girl stated. “It was not my intent to appear hostile.”

“It’s quite alright, my dear. From what I understand your rampant curiosity has caused quite a few misunderstandings, but protocol is protocol. Ah, I do believe your tea is here.”

Jeeves had silently returned with a small silver tray. It had two fancy cups of fragrant lemon balm tea, a pot holding more of the hot beverage, a plate of carefully arranged biscuits, a porcelain pitcher of fresh milk, and a tiny jar of honey-squared. The mechanized servant quickly yet gracefully laid these out on the small table in the middle of the room and then excused itself with a bow. Oliver invited Maggie and Joe to take a seat on the dizzyingly colorful sofa, and they obliged. The government official parked himself in such a way that his hologram fit perfectly into the armchair opposite them.

“Now then, Miss Oh. I have some splendid news for you,” Oliver got straight to business. “After careful deliberation, my Agency has found the terms of your proposed ceasefire agreement to be quite reasonable. So much so that we have already prepared all of the formalities on our side. All I need to do is flip a switch on my end and you’ll officially be a citizen of the 3rd British Empire. We’ll also provide you with your very own PnP chip, though we’ve taken the liberty of assuming you are able to install it yourself.”

“You assume correctly, Oliver Millington. However, if I am accurately interpreting your intent, you are not yet agreeing my terms, merely stating that they are acceptable.”

“Quite so. You see, this is a first for our Agency, making a pact like this. We’ve known that it was possible in theory, and had developed certain safeguards and protocols with that in mind, but you are by far the first entity to actually attempt to parlay with us. I understand we have Mr. Mulligan to thank for that.”

Joe looked up from his cup startled and still, like a deer in headlights. The entirety of his attention had been focused on the fragrant beverage and tasty-looking treats in front of him. He was deliberating if he wanted one or two drops of honey-squared in his tea when he suddenly heard his name. Consequently, he didn’t have the faintest idea of why he was being called out, and was afraid of saying something stupid or embarassing. He was especially wary since he knew just how important this meeting was for his and Maggie’s future. However, the girl had previously reassured him that she would do the talking and that all Joe had to do was remain by her side. The man had taken this to mean that he didn’t need to worry since his extremely capable girlfriend would handle everything, and as such hadn’t bothered to keep track of the conversation.

“Indeed. Joe’s existence is most precious to me.”

Maggie smiled at him so sweetly that he suddenly felt as if he didn’t need any honey-squared in his tea after all.

“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Oliver remarked joyfully before turning serious. “Back to the matter at hand, while my colleagues and I are most certainly interested in this agreement, we also think it would be a terribly missed opportunity if we left it as-is. Would you be willing to expand upon it beyond a mere non-aggression pact?”

“I am, provided that we can agree on mutually satisfactory terms.”

“Jolly good! Now, to begin with, I was hoping we could secure your help in lightening our Agency’s workload.”

“If you are asking me to assist you in expelling other cosmic entities, then I must decline.”

It wasn’t as if she cared about the rest of her kind one way or another, but chaotic entities tended to hold grudges and would surely target her and Joe if she gave them reason to.

“Nothing like that,” Oliver assured her. “While I’m sure your personal involvement would be a boon to our field agents, we have a very specific issue we would like your input on. In other words, we wish to take advantage of your unique knowledge and expertise in an advisory capacity.”

“Curious,” Maggie was intrigued. “Explain.”

“You see, my Agency has noted a worrisome trend. Breach events - like the one you caused when you crossed over - have steadily been increasing in frequency and severity for the past three hundred years or so. They’re especially common in heavily populated systems like this one. We’re not quite sure why this is, so we were hoping you might shed some light on the situation, maybe even help us reverse this trend before it gets out of hand.”

“The cause is your wormhole generators,” she instantly revealed.

“… Is it?” the man seemed genuinely surprised.

“The way your interstellar vessels bend, mold, and stretch the fabric of reality leaves it weakened, making it easier for those like myself to reach through it.”

“Bugger.”

That was all Oliver could muster at that point. He didn’t know the science behind wormhole generation, but what Miss Oh said certainly made sense at face value. It correlated with the data he had since humanity had been aggressively expanding across the stars ever since it mastered faster-than-light travel. These days wormholes were so commonplace that people didn’t really think about them too much. Even the Agency had somehow overlooked the rather obvious connection between them and the increase in breach events. So far they had assumed that trend was caused by hitherto unknown psionic and psychic factors, but the notion that spatial disturbances were to blame definitely warranted investigation.

The real issue with this was that, if that was indeed the root cause, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be fixed quickly or easily. Wormhole generators were a galaxy-wide standard, with some ships housing devices that were over a hundred years old. Discontinuing their use was not going to happen for so many reasons that they weren’t even worth counting. Ideally it wouldn’t come to that, and the Milky Way’s civilizations could find some way to alter or upgrade the technology so that this spatial fraying stopped happening. Even then such changes would take decades before they could be enacted on an impactful scale, and that was assuming such a thing was even possible.

Thankfully, Oliver had the ear of a vast intellect whose knowledge and computational prowess were akin to a quantum supercomputer on steroids.

“Is it possible to fix the damage, or prevent it from getting worse?”

“It is,” she confirmed.

“How can you be so sure? Do you even know how wormhole generators work?”

“Not yet. However, I know from personal experience that the regions of space belonging to the Mostly United Republic of Inter-Cosmic America are significantly more stable than yours even though their interstellar traffic is no less severe. It is extremely likely their wormhole generator designs have already accounted for the issue I mentioned, whether on purpose or by accident.”

“Blast those yanks!” Oliver grit his teeth. “They probably knew all about this but kept quiet!”

The political climate between the 3BE and MURICA had always been rocky, ever since before humanity spread across the stars. Both space-faring civilizations were part of the Federation of Allied Governments, so they were technically allies. However, their cultures and core values were vastly different. For instance, every Brit worth his stiff upper lip adored a spot of tea, but the yanks insisted that their heretical bean juice - also known as coffee - was superior. There were many other similar conflicts, but the biggest divider between them was their stance on artificial intelligence.

While the 3BE outlawed and reviled synthetic life forms, MURICA embraced them. In fact, their leader was one. His name was President John Henry Rushmore, and he was thoroughly unique in that he had a quad-core central processing unit. Each of his cores was programmed to think like one of the great leaders immortalized upon the legendary monument he was named after. The result was a mega-president that did such a stellar job that he was poised to be reelected to serve his sixty-ninth consecutive term later that year. He and Eternal God-Queen Mechalizabeth II also had something of a personal rivalry going on, though they had managed to avoid bombing each other over it thus far.

The bottom line was that the 3BE and MURICA were begrudging acquaintances at best, so it was only natural they wouldn’t share certain potentially catastrophic secrets.

“So, can you figure out how to fix our own wormhole engines?” Oliver bluntly asked.

“With enough time and data, yes,” Maggie confidently replied.

“Excellent. Then we’ll have you spearhead that development. Our people will double-check your findings, of course.”

“In return, I demand that your government assists me in ensuring that no entities, whether yours, rogue, foreign,or alien, endanger myself or Joe Mulligan.”

“Done. Next up, about that vulnerability in our banking software, have you spotted any other exploits like that?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Maggie wasn’t sure how to answer that. Did he mean vulnerability in the accounting systems specifically? Or in general? Or perhaps only those relating to the government and its operations? Also, would readily divulging that information not harm her stance in this discussion? Secrets were leverage, and she had already screwed up by spilling the beans on the wormhole generators for free. She hadn’t considered that things which seemed obvious to her would not be so to the Agency’s representative. It was a mistake she did not want to repeat.

“… Many.”

The girl ended up letting her budding humanity take over and for once provided a vague, evasive, yet technically truthful answer.

“I figured as much,” Oliver sighed. “Brain like yours probably sees even our most secure systems as a trifling obstacle.”

“This statement is not entirely inaccurate.”

“In any event, I intend to put you in touch with our cybersecurity division so we can plug those holes as much as we can. This includes the ghost money thing you’ve done a few times now, but we’ll be happy to offer you a generous stipend for your assistance. How does three thousand poundingtons a month sound?”

Joe was quietly paying attention since Maggie mentioned his name just now, and hearing that number nearly made him choke on his biscuit. That was sixty times his usual allowance - easily way more money than he could ever spend in a year, let alone in a month.

“London Bridge is falling down, Oliver Millington.”

Even Maggie seemed to think that sum was too ridiculous.

“Falling down?” the man was taken aback.

“Falling down,” she confirmed.

“My fair lady! Whatever makes you say that?”

“I have just finished cross-referencing financial records from sixty five cybersecurity consulting firms. Your offer appears to be 43% higher than the industry standard rate for a consulting position for a task of this scale and severity.”

“Yes, well. We want to be generous as a sign of good faith, you see. It’s not like the Agency’s budget can’t handle the expenditure.”

“Irrelevant. I cannot agree to the terms of the pact unless they are balanced, even if they would be in my favor.”

“I see. That’s quite noble of you, but it puts me in a bit of a rough spot. You see, my colleagues agreed this sum was acceptable, so not giving it to you in full will make them think I’m short-changing you. Perhaps you will be willing to provide some additional services in exchange for the extra wages?”

“This is permissible.”

“Marvellous! I’ve actually been meaning to tackle a few problems with our psi-ops’ advanced training programmes. As something of an expert on psionics, I believe your insight will be instrumental in this endeavor.”

What followed was an elaborate balancing act that just dragged on and on. Oliver would suggest something, then Maggie would make a counter-offer, then Oliver would counter-counter-offer, and so on and so forth. The complexity and scope kept escalating so much that Joe completely lost track of the conversation within just five minutes, and it seemed as though it would go on for quite a while longer. He stopped listening altogether and just focused on relaxing. Between that wonderfully refreshing tea, the delicious biscuits, the superbly soft sofa, and Maggie’s dulcet tones, he found himself rapidly dozing off.

“Hey, Maggie?”

He injected himself into the ongoing discussion with the grace and finesse of a freighter crashing into a refueling station. Oliver was naturally a bit put off by the intrusion, though the girl didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Yes, Joe?” she turned to him with a smile.

“Is it okay if I take a little nap?”

“Of course.”

She gently patted her thighs, indicating that he could rest his head in her lap if he so desired. Joe absolutely did, so he took her up on her offer and in the process raised his feet up onto the armrest of the couch. Maggie gently caressed his head as she lulled him into the best damn nap he’d ever had. It was so unbelievably comfortable that not even the occasional yelling from Oliver was enough to wake him. He slept soundly for so long that when a dull thumping sound finally woke him, the meeting was already over.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” Maggie asked when she saw he was awake.

“It was pretty ace, yeah,” he replied from her lap. “Mind if I stay like this a bit longer, though?”

“Are you still tired?”

“Not in the slightest. That was really refreshing, actually. It’s just that your thighs are really soft and comfy, and your dress feels great against the back of my head.”

“Your approval pleases me.”

Joe took this opportunity to glance around the room. It was still as overwhelmingly posh as before, albeit with two significant differences. The first was that Mr. Millington’s hologram was gone, which was perfectly natural since his business was done. The other was that the golden light pouring through the window had turned distinctly more orange, and was dying most of the room in that hue. Now, Joe very rarely saw his homeworld’s sun in person, but there was plenty of simulated sunlight in VR. So, while it took him a few seconds, he was able to successfully deduce the time of day. His eyes sought confirmation by turning towards the fancy grandfather clock on the opposite end of the room.

“Wait, it’s already seven thirty?!”

“Yes. Is this an issue?”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just, it’s awful rude to be sleeping in a stranger’s house for so long.”

An hour-long nap while the smart people ironed out boring details? That was fine. More than reasonable, in Joe’s opinion. But occupying the room for an entire afternoon was a bit much.

“Your consideration is admirable, but unnecessary,” Maggie calmly stated. “Oliver Millington has no right to object to our presence here.”

“Right. I guess he doesn’t actually live here, him being a hologram and all.”

The girl slightly tilted her head as she looked down at him, her eyes blinking rapidly. Joe recognized that gesture, something he had started internally calling ‘the thinky-blinky.’ Maggie did it whenever she was rapidly processing something that she really should have thought about before. One of those ‘obvious in hindsight’ things. Given who and what she was, these delayed revelations were usually quite ridiculous, so the man tempered his sense of normality in anticipation for the incoming truth bomb.

“I neglected to mention that I have claimed legal ownership of this dwelling.”

It was a good thing he’d braced himself, because that was quite the hefty one indeed.

“Ah. Yes, probably should have said that earlier. Like, way earlier. Like, ‘before you did it’ earlier.”

“I sense hostility in your tone, Joe. Did I offend you somehow?”

“Little bit,” he rose from her lap. “So are you going to live here now? Moving out of my dinky commoner’s abode into this fancy-shmancy suite?”

“My intention was to have both of us reside here.”

“Uh-huh. And you just made that decision for me, did you?”

“I concluded that letting you sleep was more important.”

“An afternoon nap is more important than what is potentially a lifelong commitment?!”

Maggie did her thinky-blinky thing again as she realized what Joe was getting at.

“… Ah.”

The man sighed, groaned, and rubbed his face in exasperation. While he was rightly upset that his girlfriend had excluded him from such a huge decision, he was far angrier at his own stupidity. He knew full well that Maggie had a bad habit of taking things too far whenever she got invested in her ‘work,’ and it was Joe’s job to remind her to take a step back. She’d gotten a lot better at keeping her impulses in check, so he figured she had a handle on the negotiations. In retrospect, he had underestimated that mustached bastard because of the jolly uncle act. He probably goaded Maggie into agreeing to some outrageous things in exchange for this pointlessly fancy suite she didn’t really need.

“If you wish for us to remain in your apartment, then I will comply,” the girl stated.

“What, and just leave this place empty? That’d be a huge waste, and we both know you hate that.”

“This is… true,” she looked down at her knees. “However, my lack of consideration has caused this impasse, therefore I must be the one to yield.”

“Look, it’s not like I’m against the idea of moving here. I’m upset, not crazy. We’ll just have to redecorate, get rid of all this posh rubbish and figure out what to do with all the rooms. Actually, what even is the layout here?”

“There’s this sitting room, a dining room, a kitchen, a living room, a study, a games room, a master bedroom, a guest room, and two bathrooms.”

Joe’s mouth flew open and his finger went up, but he managed to stop himself from saying something incredibly inappropriate.

“Ten rooms?” he squeaked out.

“Eleven if you count the hallway.”

“Bit much for two people, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“At least there’ll be plenty of room for Azgod’Kalar to run around and play… if snakes did that sort of thing.”

“This residence is suitable for a pupper,” the girl hopefully pointed out.

“Maggie, please. One thing at a time, okay?”

His attention was then drawn to the odd bumping sounds from somewhere down the hall, the same ones that had woken him up.

“Also what in the Queen’s name is that noise? It’s been going for a while.”

“My shoggoth is settling itself in.”

“Your- you mean the VR pod?”

“Yes.”

“It can walk?”

“It’s more of a scuttle, but yes, it can.”

“Did it come up here by itself?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?!” the man squealed incredulously.

“I had to remotely guide it here,” the girl calmly elaborated.

“How did it even fit through the door?!”

“With difficulty.”

“It smashed through the door frame, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but the maintenance drones already repaired the damage.”

“The superintendent is gonna blow a fuse when she hears about that.”

“She won’t. The government has agreed to intercept and scrub any automated reports involving anomalous activity in exchange for me keeping quiet about something they did that they shouldn’t have.”

Joe wasn’t quite sure what ‘anomalous activity’ entailed, but a pantry-sized shoggoth-possesed machine making holes in the walls probably fell under it.

“Actually, about that. You made a proper contract, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Where is it? I need to see what other insanities you’ve committed to while I was napping.”

Maggie pointed at the rather worryingly thick stack of papers sitting on a little table in the corner. Joe warily walked over and flipped through the dense agreement with a look of disbelief. At the very least most of the text was bloated by details, clarifications, and specifics, but there were still at least twenty clauses in that thing. The worst part was that it was all written in legalese, so simply skimming through didn’t tell him much.

“Look, just so we’re clear, there’s nothing dirty, criminal, or amoral in this, right?”

“Of course. I do not agree to terms that I am incapable or unwilling to fulfil.”

“That’s good, I suppose. Though I feel you really don’t need half this stuff you’re getting. Like, the accounting course and the law degree I can understand. Perfectly respectable. But a shuttle pilot’s license? Really?!”

“I find the idea of the two of us flying through space together to be quite appealing.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s kinda romantic, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go into actual space in an actual shuttle where I can actually die.”

Joe suffered from an acute fear of space flight, otherwise known as astrohodophobia. It was a common ailment among the planet-dwelling citizenry. As one might expect from an irrational fear, no amount of official statements or scientific studies could convince the man that space travel was statistically safer than taking a walk. Well, Maggie could probably persuade him to get in one of those personal shuttles, but he really didn’t want to think about it.

“Excuse me, Mistress Oh?”

The rather uncomfortable topic was interrupted by Jeeves the robo-butler, who had just hovered into the room.

“Pardon my intrusion, but you have a visitor,” he politely declared. “Should I show her in?”

“Please do,” she nodded.

“As you wish.”

“Oh, come on, Maggie!” Joe groaned as Jeeves left. “You got the butler-bot, too?”

“He makes an excellent cup of tea.”

“… Yeah, fair enough.”

Joe decided there wasn’t much point in him going over the contract. Maggie and Mr. Millington had both signed it already. With blood, no less. How he managed to do that via hologram was a bit of a mystery, but ultimately irrelevant. The important thing was that the deal was struck, and the girl would stick to it no matter what. Having Joe question the terms served no purpose but to exhaust him. Sure there’d be a few surprises here and there, but nothing could beat waking up to learn that his space-witch girlfriend had landed herself a luxurious apartment.

He then rapidly reconsidered that sentiment when he saw a ginger-haired woman in military fatigues and armed to the teeth walk into the room and salute them both.

“Psionic Agent 2nd Grade Sarah Johanson, reporting for duty, ma’am.”

Joe just slowly turned to Maggie.

“Agent Johanson will be staying with us for the foreseeable future,” she calmly answered the unspoken question.

“But… But why, though?”

“I will be conducting experiments that aim to harness her full psionic potential.”

The man looked quizzically at the woman in question. Their eyes met, and the two strangers that had never spoken face to face shared a moment of deep, profound understanding of the human condition. It was the unfortunate realization that they didn’t have anywhere nearly as much control over their lives as they liked to think. The epiphany that, try as they might, there were certain things that they would just have to abide by and live with.

Certain many-eyed, girl-shaped, terrifyingly curious things.

“My condolences,” he offered.

“Likewise,” she replied.